Every Day Thoughts October
by MissJayne
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles about the friendships between our favourite characters.
1. Oct 1

_A/N: For Intro, please see Every Day Thoughts January_

Every Day Thoughts October

_**Oct 1**_

**A true friend gives the best advice – not necessarily what you want to hear, but what you need to know.**

Jenny opened her front door with a sigh. There was only one person stupid enough to disturb her after midnight. Possibly even suicidal but the truth was, he simply knew her too well. She definitely hadn't been asleep.

Gibbs stood on the doorstep, looking as wide awake as ever. If she hadn't seen him sleep with her own eyes, she was tempted to assume that he never slept.

He pushed past her before she could invite him in. She rolled her eyes but closed the door. There was no point in trying to teach him manners – it would be a losing battle. She followed him through into her study and settled for glaring at the back of his head instead.

"No files," he noted, staring at her desk.

"Finished them about half an hour ago," she told him. "Bourbon?"

Not bothering to wait for his reply, she poured two glasses and handed one over.

"You've been brooding," he decided.

She looked away.

"On what, exactly?"

She chose not to look at him. It was too late at night to play this game and all she wanted to do now was crawl into her warm bed and forget about the responsibilities of power until her alarm went off at a ridiculously early hour and her day started again.

He moved closer, placing a finger under her chin and forcing her to look into his eyes. "You need to let go of the past."

She was half-tempted to use the words 'pot', 'kettle' and 'black'. But she decided not to say anything.

He draw away from her and she nodded to show him she understood his message. They had never needed many words. He swallowed the last of the drink and headed for the door.

"Night, Jen," he called behind him.


	2. Oct 2

_**Oct 2**_

**Kindness is the only investment that never fails.**

Abby was not happy.

This in itself was unusual. Normally a combination of her natural sunny disposition and her constant Caf-Pows kept her the happiest person in the Navy Yard. But today she had McGee in her lab.

That part wasn't unusual. Sometimes he would come down to help her with a computer problem, others to keep her company. She enjoyed spending time with him – he understood her.

The problem was that he was upset. Which in turn made her upset. McGee was supposed to be fairly content with his lot in life, not feeling miserable in her office. And it wasn't even a major problem. She had a feeling that everything seemed to be conspiring against him at the moment and this was the straw to break the camel's back.

She wandered back into her office and pulled him into a hug.

"Abby," he began. "I'm not sure I need the aromatherapy."

She pulled back. "Of course you do," she replied. "It will help."

"Do I really need to be handcuffed to the chair?" he checked, pulling at his bond.

Abby nodded. "The one and only time I tried to do this without the handcuffs, you disappeared five minutes into your treatment."

He nodded as well. "All that's happened is my shares have taken a tumble. They'll recover. Eventually."

She beamed. "See, it's working! You're more positive about it now."

"I'm sure Gibbs is looking for me, so –"

"Don't worry." Abby gave him a light hug. "Gibbs knows you're here. I'm going to deal with whatever results Major Mass Spec is spitting out and then I will come back and you can spill your guts to me. Understand?"

She smiled as he nodded. Today was looking better already.


	3. Oct 3

_**Oct 3**_

**However rare true love is, true friendship is rarer. – Duc de la Rochefoucauld**

Ziva sat at her desk, watching her partner play some stupid computer game. He was lucky Gibbs was not around to observe him.

She wondered why she was friends with Tony. On paper, they had nothing in common. She was Israeli; he was Italian American. She came from Mossad; he was a cop. She could kill him in various painful ways with everything on her desk; he couldn't find anything on his desk.

He enjoyed winding everyone up, pulling pranks and generally annoying her. He teased her when she mixed up her languages, yet relied on her to translate anything he could not understand. He expected her to adapt instantaneously to his culture, while she wished to preserve some of her own.

He did not understand her. Refused to accept that she struggled to drop her guard, to allow people in. Could not understand her upbringing, her need to remain alert at all times and not 'let loose' as he termed it.

And yet she could see through his masks. See the damaged soul underneath. Perhaps that was what drew them together, two damaged people. She knew he was a good person at heart but was afraid of being hurt. She would not hurt him in that way and he knew it.

Whatever it was, she knew that together they were unstoppable.


	4. Oct 4

_**Oct 4**_

**And so, to compare it with what are commonly termed the necessities of life, we find friendship of more general advantage than water and fire. – Marcus Tullius Cicero**

Tim did not think this was the best plan they had ever come up with. But he couldn't exactly come out and say that when Tony would kill him.

Gibbs had been… worse than usual for the last week. Actually, that was an understatement – he had been unbearable. Tim was used to coping with Gibbs on bad days but this had been horrendous. He had spent a lot of time hiding in Abby's lab while the entire squad room walked on eggshells.

And now Tony and Ziva had decided to get revenge. He was not happy at being dragged along but knew he couldn't escape. Gibbs was going to kill them.

_Really_ kill them. For Tony's brilliant idea had been to burn down the boat in his basement. Ziva had bought the lighter fluid and Tony had got his hands on matches. Tim suspected he was along simply for back-up.

"Do you realize what Gibbs is going to do when he comes down here?" Tim whispered, as though the great man himself was lurking in the shadows.

"He deserves it," Tony hissed. "I'm sure I have a concussion."

Ziva continued to drench the wood in lighter fluid. "I think I am going deaf from all of his yelling," she added.

"I'll buy you a set of earplugs," Tim promised. "If we do this, he'll be digging three graves in his back yard."

"He won't know it was us," Tony retorted. "If he leaves his house unlocked, he deserves it."

Everyone stood back as the boat went up in flames. Tim decided the minute he got out of here he was going to ask Abby for an alibi. Gibbs would never interrogate the favorite.


	5. Oct 5

_**Oct 5**_

**Thank you for loving the jeans-and-baggy-tee me as much as you do the dress-and-heels me.**

Gibbs sat in his basement, sipping bourbon and staring at his boat. He was too wired to think.

He knew it wasn't because of the coffee – he had drank his usual amount. It was the case; not the most disturbing he had encountered in his career, but certainly full of twists and turns. His mind was on overdrive trying to work everything out.

He had decided to take a few hours off to think. And that meant working on the boat. But he couldn't focus on the task at hand. All he wanted was to go back to work and figure this out.

The front door opened somewhere above him and he winced. The last thing he wanted right now was to deal with one of his team giving him a pep talk. They had called him one too many times and his phone was currently located in a jar of paint stripper.

But his intruder, when she finally opened the basement door and came down the steps, turned out to be Jenny.

He grinned. The last time he had seen her, she had been leaving on a date. All dressed up to the nines and looking as beautiful as ever.

Now she had clearly been home and changed. Jeans and a baggy t-shirt adorned her and she looked just as good. He had always considered himself lucky for getting to see the other side to her – her relaxed side. She knew she didn't need to dress up for him.

"DiNozzo?" he asked.

She looked blank. "Didn't feel like drinking alone," she replied.

He searched his bench for a semi-clean cup. If she wasn't here on official business, he had the chance of forgetting about the case for a few hours.


	6. Oct 6

_**Oct 6**_

**Friendship is a sheltering tree. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge**

Tony stared out from under the tree branches. The rain was still coming down amazingly fast and heavy. It wasn't hailing, but it was dangerously close.

Not to mention the thunder crashing in the heavens above and the lightning which lit up the sky for miles around. Why had he agreed to wander into a field in the middle of nowhere to follow a trail?

Oh yes. Because Gibbs had ordered him and he had been following their Mossad hunting dog.

He turned to find her sitting on the ground beneath the only tree for about five miles. She looked half asleep. How could she do that?

"You do know it's not safe to shelter under a tree in a storm, don't you?" he checked.

One of her eyes opened. "Would you prefer to lie on the grass and get soaked?" she replied.

He considered it for a brief moment. New shirt, new tie… "I'd prefer it over being struck by lightning," he pointed out.

Her other eye opened and she shrugged. "It would keep you warm."

He winced. "Crispy, _Zee-vah_."

"There is nowhere to go," she commented. "The car is four miles to our east and the rain will wash the trail away. Gibbs will understand."

"You can explain it to him," Tony muttered. "If we don't freeze to death first." Being struck by lightning was slowly becoming a better idea in his mind.

"Although the storm has yet to pass directly overhead, we will be able to return to the car without drowning in about two hours," she noted, closing her eyes again.

"Two fricking hours!" he cursed. "I really am going to freeze."

"If you are that concerned, come over here and conserve body heat," she offered.

"You know," he began, smirking. "I heard that works better when both parties are naked."

"That is true," she grinned. "But it is not going to get cold enough for _that_."

He pouted, before realizing her eyes were closed again and she couldn't see. Nevertheless, he sat down next to her and moved close.

"Aren't you glad you came out with me and not Gibbs?" he smiled.

"Gibbs would not complain," she countered.

He rolled his eyes. Perhaps it was better to shut up for a while than push his luck.


	7. Oct 7

_**Oct 7**_

**Great souls by instinct to each other turn. – Joseph Addison, **_**The Campaign**_

Tim was bored. Very bored.

He was sitting in Abby's lab, not normally a place of boredom. But today he was waiting for a fingerprint match and he couldn't do anything else without it. They needed to identify their dead body in Autopsy before they could make their next move.

Gibbs had sent him to help Abby out with all the evidence. The Goth in turn was incredibly protective of her 'babies' and had refused to allow him anywhere near them. So he was stuck running fingerprints for the afternoon.

As though she could read his thoughts, Abby settled on the chair next to him. "Which database are you on now?" she inquired.

"Well, he's not military," Tim concluded. "Currently on the East Coast felon list."

"I always like them," Abby smiled. "What did _el jefe_ say?"

"About?"

"The case! His gut is always right."

He stared at her. "Abby, you are a scientist. You cannot believe in Gibbs' gut."

She pouted. "But it never fails! Are you also going to deny that he knows exactly when I get a result?"

"There is a reason a court would never convict based on Gibbs' gut alone," he pointed out. "They need evidence first. Which means Gibbs' gut cannot always be right."

"It's never wrong," she replied. "Have _you _ever known it to be?"

"Gibbs is not infallible," he answered, sidestepping the question. "He makes mistakes like everyone else. I mean the man's been divorced three times."

"And?" The deep voice of Gibbs directly behind him made his heart drop.

The computer dinged, his salvation. "Our dead body is Aaron Miller, boss," Tim found himself saying.

A glare was his only reply.


	8. Oct 8

_**Oct 8**_

**Friends Activity: Tired of dreary Mondays? Make them Mad Poetry Mondays. E-mail each other a self-written poem to make the day a little brighter.**

A. DiNozzo: I'm going to kill you, Probie.

Z. David: Do not be harsh on him, Tony.

T. McGee: It was Abby's idea originally. I just told you about it and you seemed to like the idea.

Z. David: It is a good idea.

T. McGee: Thank you, Ziva.

A. DiNozzo: Stop slapping each other on the back.

Z. David: We are sitting at our desks in the squad room, Tony. I cannot slap him on the back from here.

A. DiNozzo: Not like that… *headdesk*

Z. David: What?

T. McGee: He's just jealous he didn't come up with the idea.

Z. David: And the '*headdesk*' bit?

T. McGee: That's because he's an idiot.

A. DiNozzo: I am _not_ an idiot. You are, Gemcity, for saying we have to write poems for each other every Monday.

Z. David: Like I said, I thought it was a good idea. It brightens the day, yes?

A. DiNozzo: Do not thank her, Probie! Or we will go in one big aggravating circle!

T. McGee: Thank you, Ziva. Shut up DiNozzo.

A. DiNozzo: What do you think Gibbs would say if he knew we were writing poems to each other?

Z. David: He does not look concerned. He is sipping his coffee.

A. DiNozzo: But he knows everything! He'd say we are federal agents, not a bunch of high-school emos.

Z. David: What is an emo?

T. McGee: I don't think Gibbs knows either.

A. DiNozzo: *sighs* You know what I mean.

L. J. Gibbs: Not a clue, DiNozzo.

A. DiNozzo: Shutting up, boss. I'm going to kill Abby for teaching him to IM.


	9. Oct 9

_**Oct 9**_

**I passed to the altered days when I was so blest as to find friends in all around me, and to be beloved. – Charles Dickens**

Ducky stood patiently in the elevator, autopsy results in hand. Petty Officer Dixon had had nothing unexpected to tell him – the time of death was obvious as there had been twenty witnesses and three independent video tapes of the Petty Officer keeling over on a college campus.

Nevertheless, an autopsy had been necessary and now he had to hand the report over to Jethro. Well, Jethro's temporary replacement as Rule 38 was in effect. Anthony was in charge until they worked out why someone had poisoned the lead suspect in a homicide from his days as a Baltimore cop.

The elevator doors slid open and Ducky stepped off, his feet instinctively carrying him to Jethro's part of the squad room. He really did make this trip too often…

He recognized the formation of chairs in seconds. Anthony was having one of his infamous campfires. Ziva and Timothy looked mutinous – Ziva's eyes showed her homicidal desires. Jethro sat patiently while Anthony babbled on about something.

It did not take long for him to be noticed.

"Take a seat, Ducky," Tony grinned. "Come join in."

He took the proffered seat, his heart swelling with joy at the thought of being included in such a way.

"Our suspect pool is still far too big," Ziva complained. "It seems as though everyone hated this man."

"With good reason," Timothy muttered.

"Okay, so he was a liar and an all-round pain in the neck," Tony pointed out. "But he was my chief suspect and I need to know _who _killed him."

"I'm afraid I cannot help you with that," Ducky stated. "Abigail will be able to confirm the poison used and that may narrow your search. But everything else was in order."

"Thank you, Ducky," Tony smiled. "Campfire over."

Ducky pushed back his chair and rose, smiling. He knew there was a reason he spent more time with this team than any other…


	10. Oct 10

_**Oct 10**_

**Happiness seems made to be shared. – Jean Racine**

Abby was excited. More than excited. Today was a good day.

Major Mass Spec had finally decided to stop messing her around, she had found a stash of Caf-Pows she had forgotten about and Gibbs had given her a kiss on the cheek. She had even received a phone call confirming the publication of her latest journal article. All was well with the world.

Bert had recovered from the emergency surgery she had been forced to perform the day before when his stitches had become suspiciously loose. McGee had fixed her chair after several vital screws had come undone. Her hearse had miraculously made it to work without getting a flat. The radio was playing her favorite albums. The sun was shining.

The elevator dinged and she bounced up and down. A visitor! Perhaps it was possible for her day to get even better!

She beamed as Tony walked into her lab. "Hey Abs," he greeted her. "Gibbs wants –"

Crashing into him, she engulfed her friend in a bone-crushing hug. "Tony!" she squealed.

It took him a few moments to squeeze out the words "Can't breathe!" Reluctantly, she released him. Still, it was nice to have him around.

"How many Caf-Pows have you had today?" he queried suspiciously.

"Two," she answered innocently. "Can't I just be happy to see you?"

"I get worried when that's in a caffeine-fueled way," he muttered.

She punched his arm lightly. "What's wrong with me sharing my happiness with you?" she questioned.

Tony beamed. "Just don't kill anyone, Abs."


	11. Oct 11

_**Oct 11**_

**The best gift you can offer a troubled friend is a patient willingness to listen.**

Ducky was quite comfortable in his domain, his fingers slowly warmed by the steaming mug of tea cradled in his hands. It had been a long day.

But he always had time to help his friends. Timothy had appeared half an hour ago, just as Ducky had been finishing his last autopsy of the day, barring any unfortunate incidents. Now Timothy was pacing back and forth, clearly angry about something. Ducky knew it was better to wait until the young man was ready to speak.

"I'm going to kill Tony," he finally stated.

"And what has Anthony done this time?" Ducky queried, staying as calm as he would while simultaneously wanting to head upstairs and strangle the man.

"I bought Abby a cupcake," Timothy began. "She's had a few hard days and I thought she deserved a treat. It's her favorite chocolate cake and they only have it in a little shop on the other side of DC."

The young man stopped pacing and turned to look at Ducky. "I put it on my desk for safekeeping while I was in MTAC, came back and found the wrapper in Tony's bin. He even had the nerve to tell me how nice it was!"

Ducky sympathized with Timothy. Abigail was everyone's favorite and everyone would do whatever it took to protect her.

Normally he refrained from giving advice, preferring to allow his 'patients' to draw their own conclusions. But he would rather give advice today than hear about Timothy punching Anthony.

He drew himself up to his full height. "Might I suggest mentioning this within earshot of Jethro?"

He could see the moment realization dawned on Timothy's face. "Thank you, Ducky."

Anthony was a dead man walking.


	12. Oct 12

_**Oct 12**_

**If you listen to two good friends having a conversation, it sounds like two finely tuned musical instruments – they're in perfect pitch with one another.**

Cynthia was nervous. It wasn't due to the argument she could hear through the wall – she was too used to the Director and Agent Gibbs yelling at each other at the top of their lungs to pay much attention anymore.

Her nervousness had more to do with the motley crew gathered outside the office. Tony, Ziva and McGee had appeared shortly after Gibbs had stormed past and started shouting. One of them had summoned Abby from her lab and all four now had their ears pressed to the door.

Not that it was necessary; the argument was loud enough. Normally Cynthia would have found an errand to take her away from her desk by now, but she wasn't sure she could trust her new-found partners in crime. Knowing her luck, both warring parties would fling the door open and catch everyone red-handed.

Perhaps it _was_ better if she went for a long walk…

"You cannot shield your boyfriend from this investigation, _Director_."

"Not that it's any of your business but he is not my boyfriend, Agent Gibbs."

"_Right_. You just stick your tongue down the throat of random strangers in the NCIS parking garage?"

The conspirators giggled.

"Don't they sound perfect together?" Abby cooed.

"Perfect?" Tony snorted. "Gibbs is jealous."

The door flew open and a livid Gibbs stood in the doorway. Tony stared in horror at his boss. Gibbs grabbed his ear, dragged him into the office and slammed the door.

Cynthia risked a smile as the others scarpered, afraid they would be next. She couldn't wait to hear _this _argument.


	13. Oct 13

_**Oct 13**_

**It is more shameful to distrust one's friends than to be deceived by them. – Duc de la Rochefoucauld**

Tony strolled into the squad room, placed the paper bag on Ziva's desk and settled in his chair.

"What is this?"

He glanced up to see Ziva eyeing the bag suspiciously. "It's lunch."

"Lunch?"

"Yes, lunch. A meal taken between breakfast and dinner, generally around midday, although because we work with a certain Leroy Jethro Gibbs it usually falls later in the day."

"You have bought me _lunch_?" She continued to look suspicious.

"I owe you," he admitted.

"For what?" she replied. "The collapsing chair, giving me the wrong directions to our last crime scene, telling McGee that I wish to marry him and he needs to convert to Judaism within the next few days, or giving my car two flat tires?"

"Wouldn't the McGee one be more, you know, annoying him?" Tony checked.

"It was embarrassing," she clarified. "And you are right; you owe McGee for that one as well."

"I will never apologize to the Probie, but I thought you might like lunch."

She glared at him, pulling a knife from nowhere. "What did you do to it?"

He eyed the knife. "Nothing," he answered.

She simply raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing!" he repeated. "I got your favorite in the hope you won't kill me."

She removed her lunch from the bag and began to examine it carefully. He rolled his eyes.

"Ziva! I promise!"

He breathed a sigh of relief when she looked up and smiled. "Gibbs," she greeted their boss as he walked in. "Tony has bought you lunch."

Tony felt his heart drop. Gibbs was going to kill him.


	14. Oct 14

_**Oct 14**_

**Friendship! To be two in one. – Alfred, Lord Tennyson**

Gibbs strode off the elevator, obligatory Caf-Pow in hand. He needed results from Abby and he needed them fast. Their suspect wasn't going to break in Interrogation unless he had something to throw at his smug smile.

The usual music blared as he made his way into the lab.

And paused.

"Hey Gibbs!" Abby squealed, launching herself at him and forcing him to take a few steps backwards.

"Abs?" he questioned, eyes glancing around the room.

She snatched the drink from his hands before he could stop her. "You want to know the deal with my selection of Caf-Pows?"

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The floor was covered in them; the desk too. He briefly wondered if he should start buying shares in the stuff.

"There's a two for one offer!" she beamed. "And I thought I'd save myself some money by buying them all in advance. Of course I need to find some more fridge space or they won't be as cool as I like, but I think I can survive. I reckon this'll last me for a month, maybe six weeks if I ration it."

Gibbs decided he would order McGee to buy him stock in the company the minute he arrived back in the squad room.

"Abs," he warned.

"I'll ration it," she complied. "I just like my caffeine highs."

He pecked her cheek before leaving. "Evidence. You've got an hour."

"Yes sir!" she called after him.


	15. Oct 15

_**Oct 15**_

**A real friend is someone who wants to see you succeed just as much as you do.**

Ducky clapped Mr. Palmer on the back as he entered Autopsy. "Are you all prepared?" he asked.

Palmer looked at him blankly. "For what, doctor?"

"Your exams!" Ducky knew he was probably a little too excited, but he was looking forward to his assistant scoring high marks and being able to brag to his fellow medical examiners about it. "They start tomorrow, don't they?"

"Yes." Palmer appeared less confused. "I've been studying hard."

Ducky smiled. He felt as though his assistant was his son, a favored son whom he would support all the way. Confidence was always key to passing an examination and Ducky knew he could provide it in spades.

"I'm not so sure about the second exam though," Palmer admitted. "I can't seem to get my head around one of the equations."

"Let's have a look at it then," Ducky enthused. "We can crack it together!"

Palmer looked as though he had grown another head. "But… what about our latest guest?" He pointed to Commander Williamson on the table.

Ducky shrugged. "He was hit by a car. There seems to be some debate about whether it was an accident or not. The autopsy is only needed in case someone decides it was murder, but the cause of death is obvious. Now, let's have a look at this equation."

He smiled as Palmer fetched his books. This was going to be an interesting morning.


	16. Oct 16

_**Oct 16**_

**Friendship is the strong and habitual inclination in two persons to promote the good and happiness of one another. – Eustace Budgell**

Ziva sat on her couch, thumbing through the dictionary Gibbs had given her. She had always meant to go out and buy one for herself, but between cases and making new friends, she had never gotten around to it.

Gibbs had dropped it on her desk one morning when it was only the two of them in the squad room, muttering something about semantics and doppelgangers. She had decided not to inquire further. Some things she simply did not want to know about.

She stared at the word on the page before her. _Sequester_. A verb, meaning to isolate. Why would anyone use such a word when they could use 'isolate' and everyone could understand them? English was a very strange language.

The more she looked at it, the more she decided it was a word that Abby might use. The Goth isolated things in her lab and she enjoyed her scientific terminology. At least now she was prepared for when Abby told them she had sequestered something and Tony looked blank.

Tony. She doubted he knew what it meant. Perhaps she could use the term around him. It would make her feel better for all the times he had teased her about her English. It was his first tongue; he should be about to speak it better than she could.

She smiled to herself, pleased with her new challenge. She could always learn some other words from the dictionary that he was unlikely to know…


	17. Oct 17

_**Oct 17**_

**A true friend has a knack for knowing when you need to have a good laugh and when you need to have a good cry.**

Jenny stood in the doorway of the lab, unsure if she was doing the right thing. She was the Director; she shouldn't be worrying about this.

But Abby was her employee – more than that, her friend. If the roles were reversed Abby would comfort her. And armed with far more than a box of tissues as well.

Her mind made up, she walked into the lab. Abby stood in front of Major Mass Spec, staring at him but not appearing to see anything. Her music was off and Bert was nowhere to be seen.

This was worse than she had thought.

"Abby?" she began.

The Goth looked up, startled. "Director! I didn't hear you come in."

Jenny smiled softly. "A little bird told me you broke up with Ed last night."

Tears welled in Abby's eyes. "He broke up with me. Said I wasn't exciting enough."

The redhead held out the box of tissues. "I for one certainly find you exciting," she admitted.

"But not enough for Ed," Abby muttered.

Jenny took the Goth's arm. "Why don't you tell me all about it in your office?" she suggested. "Preferably before Gibbs comes in and thinks I made you cry."

Abby looked panicked. "Gibbs can't find out! He'd beat him to a pulp and that's the last thing I want."

Jenny nodded, hoping against all hope that Tony could keep his mouth shut. He had been discussing the break up at the top of his voice in the squad room when she had overheard it.

They slowly made their way into the back office, Abby snatching Bert from his hiding place along the way. They settled down into chairs and Abby took a tissue from the box.

"Okay, so he said my skirts were too long…"


	18. Oct 18

_**Oct 18**_

**In the presence of my best friend, I am nothing more or less than myself.**

Tim barely looked up as Tony appeared in the squad room, greeted everyone at the top of his voice and finally collapsed into his chair. Tony's ritual was the same every morning.

"And what did you do last night, McGoo?" Tony demanded while hitting his computer in the vain hope it would start quicker.

Tim winced. He seemed to have talked Gibbs out of slapping his computer to make it go faster and now Tony had picked up the habit. "I went on a date," he admitted.

"Really?" Tony looked as though all his dreams had come true at once. "And who was the unfortunate lady?"

"No one you know," Tim replied, deciding to leave the comment about his date for another time. Preferably one when Tony was nowhere in earshot. He was used to being teased over any dates he went on.

"Is she blind?" Tony continued. "Or did she take one look at you and run?"

"She's a model," Tim grinned. "Blonde, very pretty… I have some photos of her if you'd like to see them."

Tony pulled a face. "Maybe another time," he answered, now bored with the conversation.

Tim resisted the urge to smile. Sometimes it was easy knowing which buttons to press to make Tony leave him alone.

"Ziva!" Tony decided to try again. "How was your evening?"

"New martial arts class," Tim heard Ziva reply as he checked his emails. One from Abby. He clicked on it and was pleased to see that she had picked the location of their next date. He wondered how long it would be before Tony noticed what was going on under his very nose before he began to compose a reply.


	19. Oct 19

_**Oct 19**_

**The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship. – William Blake, "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell"**

Gibbs was not happy to receive odd phone calls. Especially ones from the Director. Jenny had just rung him to demand he come up to her office immediately, and he had better things to do than comply.

Such as wonder why Jenny had disappeared into said office half an hour ago with both Ziva and Abby. Usually he begrudged their 'girl time' together, aware Abby loved spending time with her friends and often struggled due to their work hours. If spending time with an assassin and a Director kept her happy, he wasn't about to argue.

Normally he didn't complain, knowing the three of them could come up with several nasty ways to hurt him if he stuck his nose in the wrong place. And the team were only working on cold cases today.

But he did not like strange calls practically ordering him to get involved in girly discussions. He refused to paint nails or give any of them a massage, although knowing who he was up against… He was pretty sure Jenny had some good blackmail material somewhere.

He took the stairs slowly, not wanting to rush to his fate. Thankful Cynthia wasn't around to yell at him, he flung open the door –

And paused.

Jenny, Ziva and Abby were all cowering in one corner, the furthest away from the door. The redhead had her cell phone in hand and appeared to be about to call someone.

"Gibbs!" Abby squealed the moment she laid eyes on him.

He glared at them.

Jenny pointed at her desk. "Spider," she pointed out.

He turned his head to see the smallest spider sitting on a case file. A slow smile grew on his face.

"What about it?" He didn't plan to make this easy for any of them.

"Get rid of it!" Jenny ordered.

"I offered to shoot it," Ziva added helpfully.

"No!" Abby immediately countered. "You can't kill it. Please, my silver haired fox. Just take it outside."

He resisted the urge to laugh as he carefully scooped up the spider and headed towards the door.

"Thanks!" he heard them chorus after him. He shook his head. _Spiders_.


	20. Oct 20

_**Oct 20**_

**And the song, from beginning to end,  
****I found again in the heart of a friend. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

Palmer hummed softly under his breath as he began the external examination on PFC Jerry. Today was a good day.

Perhaps not for Mrs. Mallard, who Ducky was taking to the hospital after yet another shaving mishap. Jimmy was fairly sure it was just a precaution but understood Ducky's concern.

Which left him in charge for the morning. His mentor trusted him to deal with whatever came up. It made him feel warm inside. Ducky, the man he looked up to and admired, believing in his, Jimmy's skill, to the extent that he was allowed to run Autopsy for a morning.

He continued to hum as he made a few notes. Ducky had allowed him to perform external examinations before, but it looked as though today he would be performing his first unassisted autopsy. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready though.

Although he supposed every medical examiner had been through the same rite of passage he would have to go through, and every one of them had probably been as nervous as he now was. Nevertheless, he wished Ducky was with him.

He heard someone else humming the same tune he was and looked up just as his mentor walked through the doors. "Good morning, Mr. Palmer," came the greeting.

"Morning." Suddenly the nerves were gone. "How is your mother?"

"Well enough to be harassing her poor nurse." There was a twinkle in Ducky's eye.

Palmer began to hum again as he turned his attention back to the PFC. He looked up sharply as Ducky joined in again. A smile grew on both their faces as they continued to hum in harmony while they went about their work.


	21. Oct 21

_**Oct 21**_

**Whether I need to bawl and vent or laugh and sing out, I call you. Thanks – you fit my every mood.**

Tony scowled at his cell phone as it continued to ring. Why wasn't the Probie picking up? He was supposed to be at home in his bed. Unless the McGeek had found someone to go home with…

"Ugh," came the noise down the phone as someone finally picked up.

"Probie!" Tony snapped.

"Where's the fire?" McGee was definitely awake now.

"There is no fire," Tony remarked. "Petty Officer Heatley is still inside his house. If he makes a move, my first call will be to our fearless leader."

"It's 3 am!" McGee whined. "You're on stakeout. If it's not urgent, why are you calling me?"

"I'm bored," Tony replied. "I can't call Ziva because she's in the car next to me, snoring like a drunken sailor with emphysema."

"Wake her up and talk to her," McGee suggested.

Tony rolled his eyes. "I am not stupid enough to wake up a Mossad assassin, McIdiot. She'd kill me in her sleep. And I'm not suicidal enough to call Gibbs."

"He'd kill you," McGee agreed.

"I need to vent and you are the only one I can call," Tony pointed out.

"Abby?" came the suggestion.

"I tried," Tony groaned. "But wherever she was, the music was too loud for me to hear her."

"I forgot – it's Faith's birthday tonight," McGee recalled. "She may be a little hyper tomorrow; Faith loves Red Bull."

"Ouch." Tony made a mental note to not visit the Goth unless he had to.

Ziva muttered something in her sleep. Tony's heart began to race as she reached for her gun.

"Got to go," he muttered into his phone, relieved when Ziva settled down again. He could only hope she wouldn't attack him in her sleep.


	22. Oct 22

_**Oct 22**_

**When a friend asks, there is no tomorrow. – George Herbert**

Abby glared at Major Mass Spec as she raced through her sample preparation. She had used this particular technique so many times that she could do it in her sleep.

"Today is not a day for excuses," she reminded him. "I need you to analyze this as fast as possible. Do you accept my challenge?"

Although the machine said nothing, Abby knew it understood. She would be having serious words with him if he failed her.

The rush wasn't the result of a case. Ducky wasn't mysteriously grumpy with her and neither was Gibbs.

But Gibbs _had_ been grumpy lately – Abby suspected a fight between Mommy and Daddy – and she was determined to make _el jefe _proud. Her only idea had been to get him the fastest result possible.

Gibbs liked fast results; he was an impatient investigator, sometimes expecting results faster than were physically possible. Yet he also cut her more slack than the others, aware science couldn't be rushed. Somehow or other, she had finally got him to accept that DNA needed a while to run and no amount of glaring at it would make it go faster.

And now he wanted to know what they had found in the trunk of their suspect's car. A white powder. Abby knew from experience it could be anything from drugs to talc; Major Mass Spec would give her the answer.

Her preparation finished, she hurried to the machine and began setting up a program. She would get Gibbs' result faster than he expected.


	23. Oct 23

_**Oct 23**_

**Wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is slow ripening fruit. – Aristotle**

The apple felt awkward in Tim's hand as he stood on the elevator. He was sure the metal cage was crawling upwards instead of racing at its usual pace. Part of him was nervous while another part, the more polite part, knew that he was simply doing a favor for a friend.

Although he wasn't sure if Gibbs counted as a friend. He was definitely 'the boss'. He knew how to get the best out of everyone, even Tony. And he certainly didn't act as a friend in that sense.

But Gibbs looked out for them. Whenever something went wrong, he would do everything in his power and then some. He made problems go away. He listened to their concerns.

Tim sighed. He wasn't worried about Gibbs' reaction to his gift; it was more Tony and Ziva's. Ziva was more likely to understand, while Tony would take the whole thing badly. He was going to be hearing about this for weeks.

The elevator doors finally opened and Tim was able to breathe fresh air. Taking a deep gulp, he walked to Gibbs' desk and placed his gift in the centre so that the ex-marine wouldn't miss it.

As he walked to his own desk, he could feel Tony's glare on his back. Instead of panicking, he began to smile. He had done a good deed today.


	24. Oct 24

_**Oct 24**_

**Never tell a friend, "I told you so," when that friend doesn't take your advice and it turns out you were right – even if it's killing you not to say it.**

Tony stared at his partner while she continued to work on her report. It was too late at night for anyone sane to be awake. But Gibbs was being his usual demanding self and refused to allow anyone home until they had finished a huge backlog of paperwork.

He knew why the paperwork had built up – it was boring. Unfortunately, Director Shepard had decided she needed the files as soon as possible and had even pulled them off active duty until she had them on her desk. Despite Gibbs engaging in a 'discussion' with her, she hadn't changed her mind.

And so they worked. The Probie had already fallen asleep on his keyboard, but he had less to do than everyone else and Tony planned to let him sleep for the moment. Gibbs had vanished for coffee and possibly to murder Jenny. This was the perfect moment to ask the question that had been burning inside him for months.

"Ziva," he hissed.

She looked up, glared and pointed at McGee.

"He's out for the count," Tony whispered.

She looked confused. "You knocked him out?"

He shook his head. "Never mind," he continued at the same volume. "Jeanne."

"What about her?" Now she was interested. And confused.

"You never bring her up," he pointed out. "All the things you throw in my face when I screw up, but she's off limits. Why?"

"Would it help if I said 'I told you so'?" she questioned.

He stared at her.

"It is not my place," she added.

"_Bull_, Ziva."

"Where?" She looked around.

Biting back a curse, he shook his head again. "_Zee-vah_."

She paused, clearly thinking. Then she opened her mouth…

The elevator dinged and Gibbs stepped off, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. Tony couldn't see any bloodstains and decided not to ask if the boss had seen the Director. He knew he'd missed his chance to get his answer… for now.


	25. Oct 25

_**Oct 25**_

**A ho-hum activity that's really fun when done with a good friend: going to the DMV.**

Gibbs tried not to let his impatience show as he stood in line. This place was disturbingly busy.

It was all Jenny's fault anyway. Somehow or other, she had managed to misplace the paper copy of her driving license. After tearing her house to pieces, he had wandered by at 0900 on a Saturday to find her about to slip her detail and head to the DMV by herself.

It hadn't taken him two minutes to get it into her head that she wasn't going anywhere without him. And so they stood in a line that seemed as though it would never move, idly watching people gossip at the counter as though the queue wasn't out the door already.

He tried not to tap his foot impatiently. Coffee. He knew he should have had coffee before he entered this hellhole. But he had innocently assumed this would take all of five minutes.

They had been waiting for an hour already. Didn't these people have jobs to do or families to take care of? Did they really have nothing better to do than stand in a queue forever and a day?

Jenny prodded him. "You didn't have to come," she whispered.

He glared at her.

"There was a reason I left my detail behind," she continued in the same whisper. "There is no point in anyone else waiting in limbo."

He resisted the urge to smile. At least she found it as boring as he did. "I could take hostages," he suggested.

She gave him a glare. "Don't give me ideas."


	26. Oct 26

_**Oct 26**_

**Little friends may prove great friends. – Aesop**

Tim kicked his tire once again in a mixture of frustration and the vague hope it would magically fix the puncture and reinflate itself.

He was stuck. In the NCIS parking garage of all places. It was late in the night, very shortly to be early in the morning. Gibbs had finally let them go home after an exceptionally long day, filled with interrogations and paperwork.

Still, they had solved the case so he wasn't too upset. Tony and Ziva had sprinted for the elevator the moment Gibbs had given them the nod to leave, while he himself had lingered, wanting to finish the search he was running.

Which was why he was alone in the parking garage, with no hope of finding anyone to help him.

He half-suspected Tony had deliberately punctured his tire in revenge for Tim playing with his computer. He didn't consider it playing – he had merely removed a few illegal games from Tony's computer before he had arrived in the morning and was refusing to re-download them.

Sighing, he kicked his tire again. Perhaps he should just go upstairs and sleep behind his desk for a few hours. Gibbs would take pity on him in the morning and leave him alone.

"Agent McGee?"

He looked up at the small voice, surprised anyone was here but determined not to show it.

"Agent Jardine!" he replied. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been talking to an informant in a different time zone. I was about to go home but then I saw you here and thought I'd offer you a lift… If that's okay and you don't have any germs."

Tim thought of the beginnings of the cold he could feel at the back of his throat. "I have no germs," he promised her. "And I'd love a lift."


	27. Oct 27

_**Oct 27**_

**I must feel pride in my friend's accomplishments as if they were mine. – Ralph Waldo Emerson**

Jenny couldn't wipe the smile off her face. She always enjoyed this time of year.

She adored the little award ceremonies the agency held annually. It was a chance to reward the agents who worked so hard under her. While some would feel an award did not make up for the work they did, for putting their lives on the line every day, Jenny felt it was a chance for her agents to feel proud. To be recognized.

Especially given the sheer number of people who had never heard of NCIS.

And today she had yet another medal for one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. His eighth Meritorious Civilian Service Medal.

She highly doubted he would turn up to collect it. She herself had started the collection that currently resided in Tony's desk, keeping the medals for a man she knew did not care for such awards.

Still, there was always a chance he had had a change of heart. She tried not to snort. Gibbs changing was impossible. There was no way he would be in attendance. Even his team knew it – she could see Tony toying with the speech he had prepared.

Whatever happened, she was proud of him. He cared for others before himself, put their safety before his and did whatever it took to get the job done. There was a reason he was constantly awarded the same medal.

She allowed the applause to die down before speaking. "And now the Meritorious Civilian Service Medal," she announced. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs."


	28. Oct 28

_**Oct 28**_

**The quality of a friendship can be measured by the amount of silence the two of you are comfortable letting pass between you when you are together.**

The basement was quiet, filled only with the sound of sanding.

The two occupants seemed content not to speak, busying themselves with the boat at the centre of the room. Sanding the ribs, pausing every now and then to examine their work. Working separately and yet as one.

Occasionally the bottle of bourbon was opened and they shared a glass. Neither was drunk, but neither was entirely sober either. They seemed to spend the majority of their evenings in this way.

A cell phone rang somewhere in the dark recesses. The man did not bother to look at the caller ID before dropping it unceremoniously into the nearest pot of paint thinner. The woman rolled her eyes but accepted it, not wanting the intrusion to spoil their evening.

If she was honest, the woman could not believe the caller had not become accustomed to the man's natural reaction to such disturbances. Nothing was allowed to disturb the tranquil atmosphere of the basement. Even the television no longer worked and had a hole that looked suspiciously as though a wrench had been thrown at it.

Their time together was precious, the few moments they could spend together out of work. It felt odd to see another side of this man, but she knew she wouldn't change it for the world.


	29. Oct 29

_**Oct 29**_

**Friends respect each other's strengths and compensate for each other's weaknesses.**

Tony dived to the floor as Ziva came dangerously close to removing his head.

"Hey!" he yelled.

"Get up," she ordered.

He stayed flat on the floor. "We're supposed to be training, _Zee-vah_," he pointed out. "It helps if I'm alive at the end of it."

"If we do not train properly, why should we bother?" she answered. "The next dirtbag on the street will not be as nice as me."

"He won't have your martial arts training, that's for sure," he muttered.

Although there was no way she could have heard the words, she glared at him. "Get up," she repeated. "You were not protecting your head."

He rose to his feet, not entirely happy. "I carry a gun," he noted. "The random guy in the street is just looking to get away, not kill me."

"You should be prepared anyway," she snapped.

"I have backup," he added. "You."

"And when I am busy dealing with the dirtbag's two friends?"

He grumbled. "Why am I facing you anyway? I should be with McGoo. He needs the training. Watching you fight with Gibbs would be amusing."

"McGee learns from his mistakes," she growled. "You act as though you are invincible."

"Still, Gibbs versus the deadly Mossad chick – Ow!" He rubbed his arm where she had punched him.

"Do not call me that," she warned. "And we should be fighting, not talking."

He rolled his eyes but began to listen to her. He was going to have a lot of bruises in the morning.


	30. Oct 30

_**Oct 30**_

**But here's the joy: my friend and I are one. – William Shakespeare, "Sonnet XLII"**

Abby frowned as she stared at the paper in front of her. This was harder than it looked.

She had been incredibly excited when she had come up with the idea. Writing a poem for McGee was a simple gesture to show how much she cared for him. All she had to do was get her thoughts down on paper.

Which was easier said than done. Now she understood what McGee meant when he said he had writer's block. It truly was horrible.

She just couldn't make it say what she wanted. Every word looked wrong and required thought. Phrases had to make sense, she couldn't overuse words and her grammar was appalling. Trying to get across her idea in only a handful of words was amazingly difficult.

And surprisingly painful. She was half-tempted to give up and carry out a fiber analysis instead, especially given how tricky and annoying they were. It would allow her to be frustrated at something else for a while.

The words suddenly came into her mind and she scribbled them down while she could still remember them. Did it make sense? Reading back carefully, she spotted a few problems and dealt with them.

Taking a huge gulp of air, Abby looked behind her to check Timmy wasn't sneaking up on her. Good. Now all she had to do was write it out again in her best handwriting, decorate the page and sneak it onto his desk.


	31. Oct 31

_**Oct 31**_

**A true friend laughs at your best funny story no matter how many times she's heard it.**

Ducky smiled at Abigail as he continued his story. He had a niggling feeling he may have told her it before, but she seemed to be enjoying it.

"So, this French _flic _was idiotic enough to interfere with my crime scene." He shook his head. "He should have known better. Chief of police as well. Well into his fifties if he was a day. Must have been on the force for most of his adult life."

Abigail sat agog, clutching Bert to her chest. "What did you do to him?"

"I pushed him off a cliff," Ducky announced proudly. "And I would do it again."

"Wasn't there a lake below?" she tried to recall.

"Fifty feet," he remembered. "Anyway, the French police weren't too happy about this and a warrant was sworn out for my arrest. Until they dropped the charges, Jethro and I went on the run. It was very exciting."

"Where did you go?"

"A young upcoming NCIS agent commandeered a boat for us," he smiled.

"Director Shepard," Abigail grinned.

"She wasn't the Director then!" he pointed out. "She also got the charges dropped."

"Rock on Jenny," Abigail beamed, squeezing Bert tight.

Ducky smiled back at her. While he was sure he had told the Goth the story before, she seemed to enjoy it still. Perhaps he should grace her with another one…


End file.
